I used to say
if you just go to bed
and wake up the next day
somehow you survive grief.
Choosing to live another day,
(even if it is only to let restless,
nightmarish sleep overtake you)
gets you through days, months and years
of waking to the living nightmare
that your spouse really died.
But now I see
it wasn't just me choosing to live
(or refusing to choose to die)
that helped me survive,
but God's faithfulness carrying me through.
He did what His word promised.
He was with me in the valley of the shadow of death.
He did not brake a bruised reed or snuff out a smoldering wick.
He never left me or forsook me.
He was with me through it all.
Not that I felt him always (I didn't)
Not that my faith was strong (it wasn't)
Not because I prayed (I couldn't)
Not because I worshipped (it burned)
But because He is who He is:
A faithful God
A loving Father
The sustainer of my life
The God who sees
The lifter of my head.
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